


in which certain things are crossed out

by rokudaime



Category: Naruto
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Chuunin Exams, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Konoha's jounin are relentless gossips and no one can tell me it's not canon, M/M, Post-Naruto Time Skip | Naruto Shippuden, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Build, Soldier Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-14 18:57:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4575972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rokudaime/pseuds/rokudaime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not always about what you say. Sometimes it's all about exactly what you can't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> At first I couldn't get this out of my head, so I started writing, and it morphed into something way beyond what I intended but I am okay with this. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> The first half is Iruka-centric, and the second picks up with Kakashi's POV some time after.
> 
>    
>  **[ !!! ]** Spoilers through Part I, the timeskip, and all of Kakashi's backstory. Some liberties taken with the events of the timeskip. Canon setting otherwise.

 

We have more possibilities available in each moment than we realize.  
  
                        _― Thích Nhất Hạnh_

 

 

 

An inch to the right and it would have killed him. A miracle, they called it.

On his third night out of the hospital with not a wink of sleep, it doesn’t feel so much like a miracle anymore. Iruka never appreciated painkillers more than when they cut him off. Even with the most advanced medical ninjutsu available at Konoha hospital, he will need several more treatments before he’s completely recovered. It just comes with the territory when you’re quite literally stabbed in the back.

It’s a good thing he’s already gone through a change of heart about Naruto. If he hadn’t, he might just want to wring the kid’s neck.

Scratch that. It’s the pain talking.

_Go to sleep._

 

 

Of course sleep doesn’t come, and he once again finds himself waiting for sunrise at the kitchen window with a cup of strong coffee. Given the extent of his injuries it’s not at all surprising he’s been forced to take time off from the Academy. And so he has another interminably long day to look forward to — the only break from the monotony his appointment with the medic-nin.

He tries to tell himself he’s been spoiled. That he’d still be used to field injuries if he hadn’t requested a teaching post. The less dangerous a job, the softer a shinobi gets. Everyone knows that. This is just the natural consequence of his choice.

What’s unnatural is his oldest friend being the one who did this to him.

When thinking only makes things worse, he heads out into the street. Better to be early than to sit here dwelling on what can’t be fixed.

 

 

The sun’s barely risen and yet it looms into view above the houses and storefronts — white and sprawling, ghostly in the muddy dawn light. It may cut an imposing figure, but Iruka hardly even glances up by now. He’s grown more familiar with this building and its halls in the last week than in the twenty-two years before that. Useful if he ever wants to make another career change, but wholly depressing otherwise. It’s early, early enough that the halls are deserted, but he knows someone is on duty. Someone always is. These doors never close — not in a village where life-threatening injuries are just part of a day’s work.

The woman he’s looking for is called Oyone. She wasn’t the first responder who patched him up when he was bleeding out but she was there the next morning, with gentle hands and a gentle voice, a respectful unobtrusiveness to her bedside manner that let him pretend his tears were not there and no one would dare say otherwise.

Iruka knows she works the early shift and it’s no coincidence that it’s her he sought out for the follow-ups. Perhaps in part due to selfish reasons — he’s begun taking a liking to her. Fortunately for him, she seems happy to help him every time. But today she’s nowhere to be found. Every room he peeks into is empty save for patients, most still sleeping.  _It really is quite early._  He’s debating whether to come back later when he spots it.

Movement in the corner of his eye. Inside a small office marked “Personnel Only”. The blinds have been drawn but hastily so, leaving unobscured slivers that might allow him to see inside if he only gets closer. So he does. And the two figures come into focus, and instantly Iruka is paralyzed with regret.

 

 

The light from the window casts a bright orange patch on the opposite wall and the rest of his room is swallowed up in darkness. The only way a room could feel this close and stifled with the window thrown open is in the complete absence of motion: the figure lying on the bed may as well be mummified. Fourteen hours, two meals and a very long walk later and Iruka still can’t keep his mind on anything else.

It was him. Kakashi.  _Hatake Kakashi_. The jounin he once followed on missions and into battle. Who he now runs into regularly at the office but who he  _still_  knows next to nothing about. That part feels intentional. There’s a silence and disinterest surrounding the man that renders him less than approachable. This, along with a few puzzling habits like reading those tasteless books in public, has kept most of Konoha’s curious at bay. But really all it’s done is force them to go underground with their rumors and speculation.

He takes it all with a grain of salt, but it’s enough that Iruka has always been slightly wary of him.

_Kakashi of the Sharingan_. No one knows how he got it, and no one has to point out the obvious: he’s no Uchiha. That alone is enough to give pause.  _Cold-Blooded Kakashi_. Famous not just in Konoha but across the Five Great Shinobi Nations, by mere reputation or secondhand war stories.  _Kakashi of a Thousand Jutsu_ , copied from friend and foe alike.

And now, evidently, Kakashi who snatched up the only girl Iruka’s fancied in ages.

Not that he’s jealous. He doesn’t do jealous. It’s unkind and unseemly, not to mention unproductive. He can see how someone in his position might be. He’s just a chuunin, too young and not precocious enough to boast any wartime victories. And having a shinobi of Kakashi’s caliber around on a daily basis does lend itself to the occasional awkward moment or unflattering comparison. But he’s never been jealous. Perhaps intimidated — yes, he might concede to that. But he also knows there are precious few who can say otherwise.

Iruka has never been jealous of Kakashi. He wasn’t then and he isn’t now.

 

 

“You missed your session yesterday.”

Lying on his side and facing the window, he’s glad Oyone can’t see his face. It takes him entirely too long to rearrange it from silent horror into something composed enough to stutter out a reply.

“A-ah, well. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it in. I should have notified you.”

“It’s all right. Just try not to miss any more.“ Having removed his bandages she dabs gingerly with a gauze dipped in tincture. "How’s your pain level? You seem tense today.”

Uncomfortable as he is, that makes him laugh. “It’s not terrible. I finally slept a little last night.”

“Good.” Her hands are on his bare skin now, radiating warmth as her chakra works to repair the damaged tissue. “I was starting to get concerned about that. You may still need a sedative if it remains a problem.”

His first instinct is to decline the offer, but it doesn’t sound half bad. He’s been so focused on handling his recovery with the proper fighting spirit that he hasn’t fully appreciated just how much sleep deprivation has been wearing on him. Under the medic-nin’s soothing ministrations he finds his eyelids growing heavy. Even the cot under him starts to feel as soft as his own bed, and before he knows it he’s drifting off.

“Iruka?” A hand on his shoulder shakes him gently and he starts awake. For a brief, disorienting moment he forgets where he is.

“All done. You can get dressed again.”

He turns his head to see her smiling down at him. Backlit by fluorescents, the impression is almost angelic. He really shouldn’t be staring at her lips.

It’s unclear if she noticed — by the time he’s upright she’s slipped out of the room to give him privacy. As he pulls his shirt on he’s uncomfortably aware of how hot his cheeks have gotten.

This isn’t going to work.

Iruka doesn’t have the heart to request someone else. All he can do is start showing up at the next shift, citing a poor sleep schedule for the change.

All the things he liked about coming to see her are the exact things he can’t handle now that they’ve left the safe confines of his imagination. It’s one thing to enjoy the prospect of maybe, one day, seeing a girl in an intimate light, and an entirely different thing to have a vivid snapshot in his mind. One which he shouldn’t rightfully have.

His new consulting medic-nin is a reassuringly bland older gentleman, and Iruka can finally relax.

 

 

The new class of rookies is a handful. If he’d expected a break from the likes of the previous batch, he’s clearly got another thing coming. He supposes that strong personalities are a good thing — if they can only settle down and pay attention, that is. It’s not until the first two exhausting days have passed that his thoughts turn again to Naruto.

Passing by the mission room, he catches what sounds like Sandaime briefing a team of jounin on their new genin charges. He wonders who’s been assigned to the kid, and more importantly if they’re up for the challenge. A little digging and he’s got a name.

But of course. It  _would_  be Hatake Kakashi.

It’s at this point that Iruka can’t help but feel he’s at the center of some cosmic joke. Crossing paths again with this shinobi who, until recently, had been only a fringe presence in his life. Only this time it’s over a more serious matter. Naruto seems to be on the right path, finally, but he’s still at a crucial place in his life. It’s a crossroads. With the right instructor who understands his history, his strengths and weaknesses, he may excel — but it’s just as likely he could backslide. From what he hears, Kakashi is the strictest of the jounin instructors, not well-known for giving praise of any kind. Without encouragement, Naruto’s newly-gained confidence in his abilities could disappear. For the life of him he can’t understand what makes Sandaime so sure Kakashi is the right fit.

He decides to meet the Hokage for lunch. Sarutobi Hiruzen is never one to turn down a meal and a pleasant chat, if his schedule allows it. If the conversation should turn to Iruka’s former pupil, well, that would only be expected.

If a person  _isn’t_  concerned about Naruto, they’ve never met him.

 

 

Shame — it started out such a pleasant meeting.

But here he is with a list of names spanning years and each one marked crisply,  _fail_. He flips through the pages, hoping it gets better, letting his tea go cold as it doesn’t.

_All of them. Every single one. What kind of teacher are you?_

Sandaime backs the man up, but Iruka isn’t sold. Names jump out at him, here and there — students he’s taught, ones he hasn’t, ones he admired from afar, bright minds and hard workers and  _better students than Naruto_ , he thinks with a grimace. Remembering the present company has him dialing it back to neutral, but he’s too easy to read. Especially for a man who practically raised him.

After he’s left, it’s the Hokage’s parting sentiment that sticks with him.

_Whatever the result, do not hate Kakashi for it._

 

 

He’d given his word.

It isn’t so hard to keep it, at first, when the startling news reaches him that Naruto and his teammates have become the first of Kakashi’s students to pass. Every time he sees the boy he’s brimming with excitement over something — a new jutsu, an exciting mission, the latest in the chronicles of Sasuke and their rivalry, and often their teacher himself.  _You know what Kakashi-sensei says?_  Iruka wonders if Naruto’s ever repeated  _his_  words to anyone with such admiration.  _Have you ever seen Kakashi-sensei fight? Those hand seals! How does he do it?_

He doesn’t have to feign interest in Naruto’s stories. It’s just such a relief to see him not frustrated by his education for once, but actually enjoying it. He’ll ramble through two bowls of ramen if Iruka lets him. Aside from the occasional detail that stops his heart for a split-second — something about a C-rank mission that was really an A-rank request submitted by someone who couldn’t pay — nearly every story leaves him with a smile. As long as the mission assignment team takes care not to overlook dangerous mistakes like this in the future, they’ll both be happy.

This is what he tells himself.

He’d given his word months earlier, and keeping it was no problem. Until tonight. Until all his doubts about Kakashi come back with a vengeance and he refuses to keep silent, ranking be damned.

Iruka knows he’s speaking out of place, but even shame at the impropriety doesn’t stop him from objecting. Any rational instructor would see it’s too soon for them. They’re rookie genin, and people die in the chuunin exams.

_Don’t you dare._

He keeps his more biting commentary to himself but the objections he does voice are enough. He’s never seen Kakashi anything but calm and collected — and this still holds true, to be sure. But there’s a sharp edge to the jounin’s words that has even his own friends warning him to reign it in.

It’s been a very long time since Iruka’s come this close to breaking a promise.

But Kakashi surprises him. Sandaime suggests a preliminary test to put Iruka’s mind at ease, and Kakashi agrees.

More importantly, the students surprise him. He’d more or less expected such a performance out of Sasuke, who thoroughly defeats his illusory opponent in only a few moves. He’s pleased when Sakura not only sees through the genjutsu he’s put her under, but points out every inconsistency that gave it away. But it’s Naruto who leaves him stunned.

Perhaps his fears are unfounded. He says as much when Kakashi meets him later, the closest to an apology he can muster. Kakashi meets him halfway, admitting that the exams will be more difficult than anything their students have faced thus far, with a caveat.

“The trouble with being a teacher is that, at some point, you need to value their advancement above your instincts to protect them.”  Kakashi’s eyes and attention are elsewhere but he chooses his words with care. It’s strange for them to be talking like this, gazing out at the darkened skyline instead of facing each other in a brightly lit hallway. All formality gone. “It’s in their best interest to develop into full-fledged shinobi as quickly as possible.”

Iruka can think of no rebuttal. His mouth snaps shut, having opened with the automatic impulse to argue back. He’s right. The one he wants to protect the most, the one at the highest risk, must know how to defend himself and hold his own in battle or all their work is for nothing.

The wind is fierce up here on the rooftop. It’s very late and so the meeting is brief, not many more words exchanged. But there is a moment before he departs that Kakashi’s eyes linger on his own, where he seems to register that Iruka understands.

They’ve always been on the same page regarding their troubled genin. It’s hard to resent Kakashi for much of anything, after that.

 

 

All intimidation boils down to is fear of the unknown. If one were to simply adjust their perspective, fear could become curiosity, the unknown a blank page to be filled.

Finding the will for this attitude adjustment can be complicated by other matters, including but not limited to conflicts in the workplace and in the game of romance. But Iruka’s been resting easier now that he’s seen the students’ skills firsthand and is reasonably sure they’ll survive. And these months away from the hospital have effectively cooled his affections for his former medic.

What he’s left with is the realization that Kakashi is more interesting than he gave him credit for.

He knows why  _he_  diverged from the standard shinobi’s path and took up teaching. What he wonders is why Kakashi did. Iruka can think of no one in Konoha more suited to front-line combat, and yet he’d been re-assigned to the Academy a few years back. This despite showing no inclination to actually teach any of the students sent his way. That this was an odd career change never even occurred to him before, but it does now.

In between class and desk duty, he mulls these things over. Lesson plans, quizzes to grade, exams to write. What exactly it was Kakashi did before the Academy. Shopping lists, dinner plans, social engagements. What made him leave. Why he’s stayed on this long.

Wondering like this will get him nowhere, but he doesn’t feel they’re familiar enough yet to ask. He considers all the gossip he’s heard over the years, wishing he hadn’t tuned most of it out in the interest of politeness.

He decides to start somewhere safe and tries Daikoku one morning before lunch.

“Kakashi? Yeah, I know him.” He doesn’t even glance up from his desk, where he’s rummaging in a drawer for some lost forms. “Never liked the guy myself. Seems nice enough but there’s something off about him. They call him  _Cold-Blooded_ , don’t they? Gotta be a reason for that. I’ve heard some nasty stories but y'never know what to believe, I guess.”

_You don’t say._  By the time Daikoku finally looks at him, Iruka’s given up. He thanks the guy with a smile and wishes him luck with his paperwork.

Safe is a waste of time. Iruka knows better than to treat secondhand gossip as fact. He needs someone closer to the source. Sandaime is completely out of the question, given his recent insubordination. It might look too much like he’s digging for dirt to use against his rival.

A jounin is who he needs. Unfortunately for him, there aren’t many jounin he’s on speaking terms with, let alone ones he counts as friends. It seems his best bet is Genma, one of the Hokage’s guard and a man he’s chatted with on several visits with his mentor.

It’s trickier this time, formulating a proper way to ask that’s both specific and casual. Luckily Genma’s too busy to care. The conversation’s soon interrupted, but Iruka walks away with his first significant piece of news. Before the Academy, Kakashi was in ANBU. And not a short stint — ten years.

Only on the walk home does he bother to do the math.

It’s nearly impossible for Iruka to imagine. A child barely older than Naruto is now, behind that mask, under that cloak. Armed to the teeth. Taking down missing-nin, murderers, S-rank enemies of the state. Disposing of bodies with cold efficiency. Just the thought of it turns his stomach.

He tries to think of other things, pleasant things. It’s no good.  _A child in ANBU._  It’s too contradictory to process and it gets stuck in his mind. A disturbing juxtaposition. A bloodstain on the floor, a dead animal in the road. It lingers long enough to shake loose a memory. The way Kakashi once spoke of the students: not rookies, not trainees, not children. Soldiers.

It always seemed so callous. Now he gets it. He wishes he didn’t.

 

 

The week is over sooner than he’d like, but there is no panic as the clock runs out. He’s spent the time preparing himself for whatever might happen during the exams. He’s ready.

It begins on a high note, with every one of the rookie nine passing their written examination. That elation carries him through the uncertainty of the next five days. He spends whatever downtime he manages to get trying not to imagine what could be unfolding in the ominously-named Forest of Death.  _They’re capable_ , he tells himself, but it doesn’t really help. When all nine drag themselves up into the tower, bruised and bloody but alive (and with two scrolls per team to boot) he’s nearly giddy with relief.

The third exam preliminaries are where it all starts to go downhill.

He’s not sure  _what_  went on in that forest, but something happened to Sasuke. No one has to tell him that. It’s obvious in the way the instructors are acting — Anko looks to be arguing heatedly with Kakashi and Sandaime. He can’t make out what they’re saying but it’s easy to get the gist. They all keep stealing looks over at Sasuke, who Iruka has never seen this self-conscious. A hand stays clamped over the side of his neck — where he’s wounded, perhaps.

In the end he wins his match anyway. Still, Iruka can tell he’s not at his best. Far from it. Even before his opponent started draining off his chakra he’d looked half-dead on his feet. It’s no wonder Kakashi whisks him away as soon as it’s over.

It only gets worse from there.

Hinata’s heart nearly gives out during her match, and so does Iruka’s. With Neji’s killing blow comes a lurch of dread in the pit of his stomach that leaves him unsettled long after the danger’s passed. The proctor ends the match before it’s too late, though not before three jounin-sensei have intervened to physically restrain the boy. The murmur that passes through the crowd is hushed but it’s not hard to guess what they’re saying.

The team of medic-nin tidy up the aftermath as discreetly as they can with all eyes riveted. That Iruka is left wondering at her fate through the rest of the matches certainly doesn’t make them more bearable. On the upside, there are only two. The glaring downside is the outcome of the first — that Sunagakure’s Gaara would have killed Lee if they hadn’t stopped him.

By the end of the evening Iruka is inconsolable. There’s nothing he can do, nothing he can say. No way to help any of them. All he can do is go home and hope for the best.

He doesn’t sleep at all that night, and this time it has nothing to do with pain.

 

 

Lunch hour feels like a good time for a hospital visit. He’d embarrassed himself first period by losing his train of thought mid-lesson, and anything that interferes with his focus like that must be dealt with. If he wants to stop worrying, he needs to see them with his own eyes and know they’re all right.

Rock Lee is awake, though more subdued than he’s ever seen him. Iruka doesn’t ask about the extent of his injuries — it’s clearly bad, and there’s no need to upset the boy by making him talk about it. Seeing the tables around his bed are still bare, he resolves to pick up a small gift for his next visit.

Lee seems tired, and his lunch break is running out, so with a few more well-wishes he excuses himself. It’s his intent to visit Hinata next, but he’s stopped outside her door by Oyone.

Finding himself face-to-face with his former crush renders Iruka speechless, but she’s the only one with anything substantial to say.

“I’m sorry, only family visitors allowed at this time. I’d check back in a few days.”

If it were anyone else, he’d inquire further. But it’s her, and he hasn’t known how to act normal around her for months, and he’s been planning his escape from the moment she opened her mouth.

“Ah. Well, thank you anyway.” A quick smile, a half-hearted bow, and he’s gone.

 

 

The afternoon drags. He’s exhausted, but plans for the evening keep his eyes open when boredom threatens defeat. As school lets out, he wanders off in search of Kurenai. On any other day, what he wants to ask might feel daunting. Today it seems the only logical course.

He catches her in the hallway near Sandaime’s office. If she’s taken aback at the dinner invitation, it doesn’t show. And seven o'clock finds them seated side-by-side at Ichiraku’s, two bottles of beer on the counter and an order on the stove.

“I’m guessing this is about Hinata?”

He’s glad that she’s the one to bring it up. “Well — essentially, yes. I went by the hospital earlier but they wouldn’t let me see her. Have you had better luck?”

“I saw her once, soon after it happened. But they cleared me out just like everybody else. I’ve been told she’ll live, but there’s no word on how long until she recovers. They can’t even guarantee none of the damage is permanent.” Her last words are quieter, half-obscured by the bottle at her lips. “God, I could’ve killed him.”

It takes Iruka a moment to process, and even then he can’t quite believe she’s said it. “Neji?”

She says nothing to this, only fixes him with a glare before moving on. “I suppose I should be grateful Kiba and Shino made it out all right.”

This bright-side approach is more Iruka’s style, and his relief shows. “Oh, definitely.” He might’ve elaborated if his thoughts hadn’t shifted to Team Seven.

He can see Naruto, wild-eyed from his triumph, seemingly immune to the injuries he’d sustained, and he wonders how hard he’d crashed when the high wore off. He thinks of Sakura passed out cold in the arena, along with her opponent. Concussions, surely, though the disappointment of having failed would hurt even more. He can easily recall the others but his mental image of Sasuke after the match is blank.

“Kurenai-sensei.” She sits up straighter in her chair at his change in tone. “You haven’t heard anything about Sasuke, have you?”

She only blinks at first, answering after a pause. “No, sorry.”

He tries not to look too disheartened. “Well, I’m sure he’s fine. He probably just needs some rest.”

_With ANBU guarding his door?_

He’d approached Sasuke’s room after Hinata’s, only to be stopped down the hallway from it. He could barely see the door from where he stood, but those uniformed sentinels on either side were unmistakable.

At a loss for what to talk about next, he occupies himself with finishing the beer in his hand. The smoky scent of stir-fried pork mingles with that of miso in the air, signaling the old chef is finishing up their order. His voice cuts through the din of sizzling meat and clattering dishes. “More drinks?”

Iruka looks up with a start. Both their bottles are nearly finished, so it’s only polite. “Ah, yes please!”

Kurenai is smiling when he turns back to her, but there’s no time to say anything else. Their bowls arrive and for the next ten minutes, Ichiraku’s famous ramen is all that matters.

 

 

Somewhere around his fourth beer, Iruka should have known better. He should’ve called it a night while he still had his wits about him, but the stress of the last few days seems to warrant a night like this. They should be allowed to unwind.

Which is all well and good, if you’re the type who can maintain full control over their verbal filter while drunk. If you are Umino Iruka, on the other hand — not so much.

The evening’s conversation has taken a dizzying course through annoying students, to annoying teachers they’d had themselves, to annoying old songs their wizened Academy sensei used to sing — Kurenai’s impression of which has him in tears. They talk hobbies, briefly, and it’s back to their students. The conversation’s spark fizzles out not long after. They both lapse into a silence neither seems eager to break.

“Did you ever see those seabirds, the ones that have to push their youngsters off a cliff to teach them to fly?” He’s thinking aloud, and glancing her way he can see Kurenai doesn’t follow. “That’s what it’s like with those three. With Naruto’s team. Letting them fend for themselves, it’s terrifying. I know I shouldn’t play favorites, but…” It occurs to him after a pause that he can’t sufficiently explain to her why he worries for them more than the other rookies, not in his current state and maybe not ever. Either way the reality is more grim than he’d like to discuss in a place like this.

His gaze lingers on the kunoichi beside him, what might be her third bottle caught between bandaged fingers. She’s closer to sober than he is, the sharpness of her red eyes undulled. He knows better.

“You’re friends with Kakashi, right?”

The warning is a hot throb in his head. He ignores it.

“Mm, I suppose you’d say that. He’s closer to Asuma, though.” She knows how to wield curiosity — no prying, just waiting for him to continue.

“I mean, I’ve known him for years but I don’t actually  _know_  anything about him. What’s he really like?”

It seems she takes the question seriously, not settling on an answer until the chef’s taken another order and started cooking again. The savory scent from the kitchen makes his mouth water. Perhaps a second bowl isn’t such a bad idea.

“Quiet. Blunt. He’s a little strange, but his heart’s in the right place.”

“A little strange, huh?” An absent-minded smile is taking form, unheeded. He rolls the bottle between his two hands, the blur of condensation wiped away in the process to show the line of liquid inside. Another drink nearly finished. “Yeah. I can see that.”

_But he’s interesting, isn’t he?_

“There’s only so much I can tell you. We’re not very close, like I said.” He doesn’t know why the smile curving her lips should make him nervous. “You should ask him out yourself. I know for a fact he likes ramen and drinking as much as I do.”

“I—” He starts, fails, and swallows. The comment might have been innocuous, though the look on her face suggests otherwise. “I’m not—”  _interested in him like that_ , but he can’t even say it. When did his cheeks turn this red? How long have they been that way? He can feel them burning, making a simple misunderstanding that much worse. “I mean, there was this girl…”

“No need to explain.” Her voice is a quiet sing-song, accompanied by a swirl of fingertips on the counter. She’s definitely amused now, though he wishes he knew what's running through her mind. _Why did I mention the girl?_ He can't tell her that part, and even if he could it would only serve to make his interest in Kakashi more suspicious. He looks helplessly Kurenai's way to find that she's sipping at her drink, perfectly placid as if nothing's transpired. There’s nothing unfriendly about her demeanor but it does make him lose the last of his nerve.

There is no second bowl of ramen. Nor is there a sixth beer. He’s never drinking again.

 

 

Back at his apartment the evening ends with a slam of the door and a short stagger to bed. He falls in face-first without even switching on the light. His vision swims dangerously if he opens his eyes, but he won’t be sleeping, not for a while.

He’s spent so much time and energy trying not to think about it that when his resolve breaks, there’s no stopping what floods back in.

The whole ordeal had happened in the space of a few seconds, but even that was too long. He’d seen enough. It’d taken hold in some shadowed corner of his mind and though he shoved it down every time it threatened to surface, it would never disappear. He’d always let his guard down eventually — a drowsy evening grading papers, a slow day working the desk. And there would be that hallway, that door. Recognition like a jolt of electricity through him. It should be Oyone who left the deepest impression. He knows this. It should be her black hair, her bare skin taking up space in his mind, not this. Not gloved hands and an ever-present mask. Not the question of whether Kakashi ever gets naked for anyone.

The first inklings of a hangover wash over him now, an ominous sign he acknowledges with a groan. Turning his face into the pillow he wills himself to sleep, ignoring everything — the nausea, the pain in his head, the only thing that could bother him more than both. If he ignores it and sleeps, it doesn’t count, and he’s never gotten hard thinking of Kakashi.

 

 

A month of downtime until the official match is long enough to decompress. There are injuries to be healed, training to be doubled-down, and a mile of red tape to be sorted through. Life in Konoha returns to normal in the meantime, and normal for Iruka is a pile of papers on his desk. Rarely is it tackled all at once, but instead it serves as a rough barometer for his mood. On a good day, the pile shrinks to almost nothing. Today just the sight of it has his blood pressure rising.

_Six hours, maybe eight. I could swing it if I stay late and skip dinner._

“Yo.”

He startles at the intrusion. As far as he’s aware no one even opened the door. “Kakashi-sensei.” He’d known the voice at once but putting a face to it sends another mild shock through him, the kind he hates himself for just a little bit. “Did you need something?”

“Just thought I’d stop by. I figured you’d be wondering about the team.”

“Oh! Yes, of course.” The report in his hands gets forgotten atop the wrong pile.

“Well, they’re alive. Sakura is no worse for wear, really. A sore head and a bruised ego. Naruto is… well, he’s Naruto. The problem is Sasuke.”

The relief that’d started washing over him is gone in an instant, leaving cold in its wake. “What about him? Is he hurt?”

Kakashi struggles visibly with this — his eyes won’t meet Iruka’s, and he barely holds back a sigh while formulating a response. “During the second exam it became clear that there was an impostor, one of the Kusagakure-nin. We were infiltrated.”

Iruka’s throat is very tight. “By who?”

He’s never seen Kakashi more uncomfortable. The set of his brow would suggest anger, if his eyes weren’t so sharp. Anxious. “Orochimaru. One of the Sannin, the one who’s been on ANBU’s books for years. I still can’t believe we missed him. But anyway, he got to Sasuke.”

“Got to him?” He can hear the hysteria in his voice but can do nothing about it. “How?”

“I’ve dealt with it for now, contained the damage as much as I could. But I’ll need to keep a close eye on him for a while. At least until these exams are over.”

There’s something careful in the way he says it, side-stepping the directness of Iruka’s question. It gives the distinct impression he’s not allowed to say more.

“But he’ll be okay.” He’s staring hard at Kakashi, eager for any sign. “Right?”

The smile is reassuring — even if it is mostly hidden, evident only in the friendly crinkling of one eye. “Of course.”

“Good.” With a deliberate breath, Iruka’s shoulders lose much of their tension. Kakashi turns as if to leave, but he stops himself.

“There was one more thing. Ahh, what was it…” Leaning absently on one of the desks, he lets his gaze drift upwards. “Oh right.” It snaps back to Iruka, unaware of its own ability to pin him motionless. “Dinner. You hungry?”

 

 

The six-maybe-eight hours of paperwork are still on his desk, untouched. Iruka is long gone.

A walk down main street has taken them past Ichiraku’s, where Iruka expected they’d stop. He doesn’t know the place Kakashi leads them into but it seems much quieter than the ramen shop. He’s grateful for that. It's badly lit but he can tell the furniture is very old, and apart from the two of them there isn’t a single customer. He appreciates the lack of bright lights and steady traffic when he has no idea what this is about. It’s possible, in theory, that this is simply dinner with no pretext — a friendly gesture. Possible, but unlikely. In Iruka’s experience, there are two reasons for an invite like this in Konoha: because there is something important to discuss, and, well, another he would prefer not to dwell on at the moment.

He can’t help but be reminded of his evening with Kurenai. How it only came about after plenty of worry and speculation on his part. When there is serious business at hand, it always feels less harsh over dinner and drinks.

Or just dinner, this time. He resolves that now before it’s even begun.

“What do you feel like, sake?”

Iruka lets his eyes wander around the place while he stalls. Behind the slick wooden bar where they’re seated, shelves of bottles run the length of the wall. Whether they even have anything non-alcoholic is doubtful, but he tries it anyway.

“Maybe just tea for me.”

“All right.” Kakashi raps his knuckles on the counter and, in answer, comes the sound of motion from a back room. A grizzled bartender shows up soon enough, slow-moving and shabbily-dressed, looking thoroughly unsurprised at who summoned him. “Just a pot of tea for now. And a menu.”

The man answers with a grunt of affirmation, ambling off the way he came after a quick but noticeable glance Iruka’s way.

When at a loss, Iruka tends to fall back on small talk, often gleaned from his surroundings. He’s taking in more detail now — the scuffed tables, the cold slate of the floor, the fine coating of dust nearly everything seems veiled in. “I’ve never been here before,” he murmurs like it’s not obvious.

“Mn. That’s what I like about it. No one ever comes in here.”

Iruka laughs, though he knows it’s no joke. The tension keeping his spine rigid starts to dissipate, just a little, and he leans more easily against the counter. When the proprietor returns it’s with an old cast-iron kettle and a yellowed menu sheet, both of which he sets down between them. Iruka slides the menu his way, disappointed but not particularly surprised to see that all they offer is bar snacks, fried fare, and cheap desserts.

“Fried chicken sounds good.” It seems the safest bet. Kakashi hasn’t died from eating here yet, at the very least.

“Fried chicken it is. Order for two, please.” The smile he gives the barman (while flashing two fingers like a child would) is one he’s seen before — at the mission desk, when apologizing for a badly written report, or his penmanship, while making no offers to correct it. The man scowls Kakashi’s way as he heads back to the kitchen, muttering something under his breath. Iruka’s curious what the story is there, but he doesn’t even have to ask.

“He doesn’t like to cook for me. Making drinks is easier.” He must’ve interpreted Iruka’s sudden raised brows correctly, because he’s swift to put him at ease. “Don’t worry about it. It’ll be good. But anyway, I needed to talk to you.”

The suddenness catches him off guard, twisting nerves in his belly. “About what?”

“Those kids only have a month to get up to par with their opponents and it’s not going to be easy. As soon as he’s released from the hospital, I’ll be leaving with Sasuke.”

“Leaving?” He’s asked it too sharply, but just like last time, he doesn’t care. “Where are you going? What about Naruto?”

“If I could be in two places at once, I’d train them both. But I needed to make a decision. Sasuke’s up against that Gaara, remember — his match will be the toughest out of any of them. If there’s anyone I’m well-suited to teach, it’s Sasuke. He needs to learn how to use the Sharingan properly, but it’s not just that. That kid has advanced way beyond the basics already and there’s an even higher level he can reach if he’s pushed. It’s looking like he’s gonna need to get there if he wants even a shot at this.” Reading Iruka’s increasingly vexed expression, he continues with emphasis. “I am  _not_  leaving Naruto out in the cold. I’ve been trying to find someone to take over for me, but unfortunately that’s not as easy as it sounds.”

He’s mollified by this consideration, at least somewhat. When Iruka replies his tone has lost its fighting edge. “It doesn’t sound very easy.”

“I know it’s not really my place to ask, but would you keep an eye on him? Make sure he’s not totally lost.”

Iruka blinks. “Yes.” The answer is automatic, coming before the shock of being tasked anything important by someone like Kakashi has worn off. When it does, he nods. “Of course I will.”

“Thank you.”

He might’ve been about to say more, but the bartender’s return captures his attention. “Yoshiro-san.” He’s oddly deferential as the man sets down a still-sizzling platter, even dipping into a semblance of a bow. “Your efforts are appreciated—”

“Don't give me that crap.”

Iruka laughs before he can help himself, earning a death glare of his own as the man retreats.

“This looks… good.”

“Told you it would be.” Kakashi’s pouring out the tea they’d forgotten, a cup for each of them, and Iruka’s still staring at the chicken. “Well, eat up.”

 

 

As far as chicken goes, it’s not the worst he’s eaten — decent taste, though entirely too greasy. But as dinner with a colleague goes, it’s probably the most memorable.

He suspects the use of underhanded tactics to accomplish the feat that is eating without being seen. Kakashi is perfectly at ease while they’re talking, but any time Iruka’s distracted from his companion subtle changes take effect. There's a drumstick he's been eyeing, which disappears in the time it takes him to refill his teacup. When the platter’s nearly empty and he’s gnawing at his last piece, he turns to catch Kakashi in the act of tugging the mask back into place, too quick for Iruka to see beneath it.

Kurenai wasn’t kidding. Maybe he’s more than a little strange. But it’s funny, and it keeps Iruka on his toes, enough that he’s stopped trying to guess what Kakashi might say or do next.

He never would’ve gotten it anyway.

“Oh yeah. The girl.”

Mystified and still chewing, Iruka eyes him quizzically. “Huh?”

“The medic-nin, right? I say go for it, if you’re still into her.”

Kakashi doesn’t know medical ninjutsu himself, as far as he’s aware. Which makes it nearly disastrous how close he comes to choking.

_“What?”_  he gasps out when his voice returns to him, wiping tea from his mouth with his sleeve. “How did you…”

“You think I need this to know when I’m being watched?” His thumb nudges the cloth over his left eye as he says it, and understanding floods ice into Iruka’s veins.

He’s never blushed deeper in his life. While he’d normally be too stunned for words at a moment like this, the flush of anger rising in him sharpens his tongue. “And what gives you the idea that I’m interested in anyone?” _Kurenai. I’ve got a few words for you._

“Ahh, Iruka-sensei. There’s not a lot that happens in Konoha that I don’t know about.”

He’s almost definitely teasing him, but Iruka can't shake the awful suspicion that it’s the truth. Only now is he rendered speechless.

“But really, don’t let me stop you. She and I are just friends.”

“Friends?” It’s such a ridiculous assertion he almost laughs. “Really?”

_And friends give friends blowjobs in the staff room? News to me._

“Look. Every major mission I go on these days, I’m holed up in there for a week afterwards. I think I spend more time in the hospital than anywhere else in Konoha. You get comfortable with people. It’s not a big deal.” He notes the old proprietor walking back in, and drops his voice to an undertone laden with finality. “Anyway, sorry if I offended you. I just didn’t want you to misunderstand.”

“Yoshiro-san.” Iruka surprises the man and Kakashi both by addressing him. “I think we’ll take that sake now.”

So much for resolutions.

 

 

By the time he finds his way home darkness has smothered the town. He barely makes it up the stairs. He truly hadn’t intended to drink but when it came down to facing Kakashi sober for the rest of the evening, he couldn’t do it. Keeping your wits about you has its merits, true, but not at the expense of your sanity.

_He knew all along._

Iruka sits on the edge of his bed, head in hands. It’s spinning, and not entirely from intoxication. He knew all along, that bastard, and never let on. He knew Iruka had spied on them. He knew about his asking around for information. He’d clearly found out about Kurenai, but maybe not the others — not that it matters. Any of those meetings could be chalked up to professional curiosity. Only with Kurenai did he slip, did he let something show—

He falls back on the bed, feeling the weight of exhaustion like he hasn’t in weeks. How he’s held it together this far, he’ll never know. It’s in his nature to endure. But maybe there’ve been one too many blows to that surety, one too many reminders that he’s never truly in control no matter how hard he tries.

Nights like this, he feels it more acutely than ever. The superficiality of his existence. Because he can work his entire life teaching these students, but he’ll still fade into the background once they’re made genin. Besides them, who does he have? Sandaime. But with the weight of the entire village on his shoulders, Iruka is reluctant to add any more.

He doesn’t often let himself feel the true size of this loneliness. It’s hounded him since childhood but transformed over the years, from a wish for anyone to simply acknowledge him into a yearning for real connection. How long has it been since he’s shared any sort of intimacy with anyone? Even among the co-workers he sees every day there isn’t one he can consider a friend, let alone anything deeper. With such a busy schedule it seems impractical to even try, but what if everyone else isn’t like that? What if they don't accept a life of solitude as immutable fact? What if they don’t bother stifling their needs because they’re inconvenient? They just figure it out, and get laid when they need it, hug and kiss when they want to be held. What if everyone else but Iruka has someone, somewhere, a bed they slide into in the middle of the night, a face to their fantasies that isn’t just some one-sided lusting and all the guilt that brings?

The longer he dwells on it, the more obvious it becomes. If it bothers him this much it’s a problem. It’s one he’ll have to deal with eventually, but for now, he surrenders to the call of sleep. Hopefully dreamless.

 

 

When there’s too much on his mind and not enough he can do about it, Iruka is grateful to have a job that keeps him thoroughly occupied. The first two weeks after the preliminaries pass in a blur of chakra training, history lessons, at least two small fires, three quizzes, and a rather unfortunate kunai-related incident that required an immediate visit from the medical unit. It’s a good thing so many of the parents adore him, because that one in particular could have gotten ugly.

It’s obvious already who’s taken up the torch for Naruto. As if that were ever in doubt. The so-called Konohamaru Army is like their senpai in stereo. Though Iruka never thought it possible, it seems he can expect even worse conduct than he got from Naruto — after all, Konohamaru’s got a lot to prove.

He’s too fond of them to be bothered much, but they would have broken a lesser man.

Iruka had been surprised to find out who’d taken over Naruto’s training, but really, it makes perfect sense. If Ebisu managed to reign in Sandaime’s grandson long enough to teach him the basics, he’s clearly got the patience for it. He’s known throughout the halls of the Academy as a strict teacher, but a knowledgeable one, often hand-picked by wealthy families for private tutoring.

Remembering his promise to Kakashi, he feels a little guilty for not keeping up with the boy’s progress. He’d checked in with him once, soon after the preliminaries, but it’s past time for another visit.

He decides to try Ebisu’s classroom first, though it’s likely they’ve headed somewhere else for training. At the very least he might run into someone who knows where to find them. Except Ebisu’s here alone, brooding over a pile of paperwork with a look that suggests he’s fending off a migraine.

“Hello, Ebisu-sensei,” he ventures with a soft knock on the door. “Mind if I come in?”

The thin man starts at the intrusion, pushing his dark glasses up out of reflex. “Iruka-sensei. Yes, of course,” he agrees absently, though it’s rather obvious he’s not in the mood for visitors.

“I can see you’re busy, so I won’t keep you. I just wondered if you could tell me anything about how Naruto’s doing.”

“Naruto?” Ebisu laughs at this, a tense sound devoid of humor. “I have no idea. I’m not responsible for his training anymore.”

Dismay washes over Iruka in waves. He’s failed. He let the boy slip through the cracks, wasted precious training time leaving him unsupervised, let Kakashi down after giving his word—

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s not  _my_  fault he’d rather chase around an old pervert with a monster for a pet.”

Something stirs in his memory at that. “Come again?”

“I don’t care if he  _is_  one of the Legendary Sannin. He’ll fill that boy’s head with nonsense, mark my words.”

“You don’t mean Jiraiya?” The spark of hope in his chest is threatening to blaze into something warm and triumphant. Only disbelief keeps it in check.

“Mm.” Ebisu’s face has gone sour at the awe in Iruka’s tone.

“You mean he’s here? In Konoha?”

“I don’t know  _where_  they’ve gotten off to. Probably down to the hot springs again. The boy really shouldn’t encourage him, but I suppose he never did have any particular restraint himself—”

Ebisu would’ve continued in his critique, perhaps indefinitely, if Iruka hadn’t run out of patience.

“Thank you for the update, Ebisu-sensei. I’ll let you get back to your work.”

As he heads back down the hallway, it takes effort not to run, to jump, to cheer out loud. Naruto is saved.

 

 

That’s one load off his mind, but the other has no resolution in sight. Three weeks have elapsed and he hasn’t seen Kakashi again, let alone Sasuke. With only one week left until the final exam he can only hope the boy is both recovered and prepared for the task ahead.

Iruka sure isn’t. Not that it will do any good to admit that. The proper thing to do is stay positive, to have faith in the two of them and their teachers. But all it takes is one flash back to the match between Gaara and Lee for Iruka to realize he won’t stop being nervous until it’s over.

Even if the boys both survive, he might just have to punch Kakashi for putting him through this. Just once.

The sun hangs low in the sky over Konoha, stretching shadows into scarecrows and washing everything with burnished gold. It’s not long until the streetlamps will flicker to life, stepping in for the waning daylight. As late as it is, Iruka can’t help but think of everything left undone on his desk. He should’ve stayed later. And he would’ve, had he not accepted that he’s simply too tired to be efficient.

Though he’s not too tired to miss that.

A hand dips automatically into his kunai pouch at the sound of twigs breaking. It could be anything — the wind, an animal — but now that he’s paying attention he can sense a definite presence nearby.

Staring into the forest, his eyes slowly adjust. There’s a dark form in the lower branches of an oak, a few meters off the road. But he’s staring, and it’s not moving, and its shape finally becomes clear.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He tucks the kunai away, frustration wrinkling his brow only for fondness to smooth it out. Kakashi’s fast asleep, tangled in the branches, limbs hanging like dead weight. Iruka’s not about to leave him here.

“Hey.” He calls it loud enough that Kakashi stirs. “Why are you even up there? There’s a bench right here.”

And it’s the same one. Same tree too, if he’s not mistaken.  _That’s my bench_ , Kakashi had chided him, so many years earlier. Iruka had been gullible enough to apologize. These days he understands Kakashi’s sense of humor a little better.

He mumbles something unintelligible in response, still attempting to sleep by the looks of it. Iruka is not having it.

_“Hatake.”_

The one eye he can see snaps open again, turning to stare down at him for a long moment. There’s a flash of movement and before any of the leaves disturbed by this can fall, Kakashi reappears on the bench. And slowly, too slow to be anything but excruciating, he pushes himself into a sitting position. Iruka hadn’t missed the tremor in his arms.

“What happened to you?”

“I told you.” Even his voice is wrecked. “Been training Sasuke.”

“And where’s he?”

“I’ve got people watching him.” The eye slips shut again, head drooping to the side as he catches his breath. “We had to take the weekend off. Get some rest.”

“And you couldn’t walk home.” It’s not a question, he’s just saving Kakashi the trouble of saying it. “What about the hospital?”

“Not any closer.”

There’s a beat where all Iruka can manage is to chew on his lip. “My place isn’t far.”

Kakashi’s eye opens just wide enough to look over at him.

“You could have the couch.”

There’s something small and nervous skittering inside him and the prolonged silence only aggravates it.

“That could work.”

When he stands, the overall impression is of an unsteady thing that might topple at any second. Iruka moves to his side almost automatically, offering a shoulder to lean on that Kakashi reluctantly accepts.

 

 

Back at Iruka’s the key turns in the lock, door swinging open to reveal the small, sparse apartment. Once they’re over the threshold Kakashi pulls away from him to stagger his own way to the couch. It’s only with this separation that Iruka lets himself process what just happened — the closeness, however platonic and out of necessity, couldn’t have been described as anything but intimate.

Needing distraction from this thought, he heads to the kitchen. “You want a drink?” He calls it out as he peers into the fridge, because he really doesn’t want to show his face just yet.

The answer’s barely more than a croak. “Water.”

When he returns, he sets the bottle down by where Kakashi’s hand has settled, draped off the side. Iruka takes a spot on the floor nearby, leaning back against the armrest. It’s only a loveseat, which leaves Kakashi’s legs hanging off the end, and though he’s tempted to apologize for the shoddy accommodations he thinks better of it.

_Chill out. He’ll think you’re being weird. He would’ve figured it out already if he wasn’t half-dead._

Grasping for something useful to say, what occurs to him is so obvious it should’ve been the first words out of his mouth.

“Oh yeah. Good job on snagging Jiraiya for this one. I mean, I didn’t even know that was possible, seeing as how he’s been gone so long.”

Kakashi’s tried to sit up to take a drink, stopping halfway to stare at him. “Wait, what?” Iruka isn’t sure if he’s messing with him, at first, but he looks too genuinely confused for that.

“He’s… been training Naruto,” he explains, starting to smile. “Yeah, Jiraiya took over for Ebisu near the beginning of the month.” The fact that he’s the one who has to brief Kakashi, and not the other way around, is definitely amusing. But it’s more than that. He’s never actually seen Kakashi stunned before. “You really had nothing to do with it?”

“Nope.” It seems he’s given up trying to sit, or drink, or keep his eyes open.  _I should let him rest._

“And Sasuke?”

_I need to know, first._

“Sasuke…” He trails off, sounding almost too tired to go on. Iruka leans closer, looking for any indication one way or the other on that face that hides so much. “You’ll see. He’ll make us proud.”

In the morning Kakashi is gone, along with every trace he’d ever been there.

 

 

It’s one week before Iruka sees him again.

One week, and everything falls apart.  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

 

                        _He wants to be tender_  
_and merciful._  That sounds overly valorous.   
_Sounds like penance. And his hands?_             
His hands keep turning into birds and          
flying away from him.                                 

  
          _— Richard Siken_

 

 

 

Time slows to a standstill only one place in Konoha, and only for one person.

Every morning the sun will rise over neat rows of headstones and a lone figure among them. No one else seems to visit this early — maybe they save it for later, or maybe he scares them off. Every morning hours pass without Kakashi even noticing. And suddenly the sun is bright overhead, and his legs are tired, and he’s left his students waiting too long again.

No one’s waiting for him anymore. He could stay here all day and nobody would notice. Only his friends would know anything is different now, because he lingers with them longer, because he doesn’t talk to them much anymore.

What would he say?

_I keep thinking of things to ask Sandaime, and then I realize. You’d think I would be used to this by now. It was like this with you, too, Sensei. Well, you remember._

_Naruto and Sakura are both training under one of the Sannin now. I guess it's only appropriate. I always say this but you'd like those kids, Rin. You'd miss them too._

_Still no more news of Sasuke. Not sure if I’m supposed to be disappointed or relieved. The other day Godaime made a point to tell me it’s not my fault. Though maybe if I were more like you, Obito, I could have made him stay._

The silence is heavy enough to hold all these things and more. They can probably hear him anyway, wherever they are.

Lately he’s tired already by the time night falls. With so much less to keep him occupied during the day, the extra strain of ever-increasing missions feels even more brutal. More times than he’d like to admit he’s woken up to find himself still fully dressed and filthy, having to scrub away bloodstains in the shower before even thinking about breakfast. He can go days without interacting with another human being beyond what’s involved in taking orders and filing reports.

He’d never argue that it’s healthy. It’s just that life has been a bit difficult lately, and that has always been something he handles best on his own. It’s simpler when all he has to worry about is himself, his work, his survival. There’s a wall that comes up, shielding him from unnecessary interactions that only drain his dwindling reserves.

It’s doing a fine job, really, until Asuma screws that up. Until he breaks through it one morning with  _How’s that chuunin, the one who’s into you_ , and Kakashi can’t pretend no one else exists anymore.

 _No idea._  His answer comes too easily. He can ignore Asuma’s disappointed look but he has less control over the seed he’d planted.

 

 

Kakashi would be hard-pressed to name a part of a shinobi’s job that he particularly enjoys, but he could easily list off what he likes the least. The paperwork would top the list. For someone who puts so much effort into quick and efficient completion of his missions, having to recount every detail for someone who wasn’t there and who will probably only ever skim the thing is not just tedious, but bordering on an exercise in futility.

He hates to write them and it shows. The quality of his handwriting tends to deteriorate over the course of each report, as his hand gets impatient with the whole ordeal. In his first few years as a jounin post-ANBU, this was often criticized by whoever was manning the mission desk. Most have since realized it’s pointless, but there are a few who remain sticklers, and he’ll avoid them at any cost.

One Umino Iruka is among those he’s deemed safe to approach with his hastily-written reports. He suspects it’s Iruka’s years as a teacher to small children that have given him a tolerance for it.

Until recently, this was the only reason he had to concern himself with the man. From the moment he took on responsibility for Team Seven, he had two.

There may or may not be a third, but it’s too soon to tell.

It’s been months since the chuunin exams. Weeks since the team dissolved. There is no longer any reason for him to check in with Iruka on a regular basis.

_Damn it, Asuma._

If it weren’t for him, Kakashi might have gone on like this indefinitely — delivering paperwork right into Iruka’s hands without registering what’s on his face. He sees it now. The spark of something hopeful upon his arrival that fades, gradually, and dies when he turns to leave. Iruka’s been waiting for him to say something,  _anything_  unrelated to work, and he’s consistently let him down.

He may not be the best at relating to others, but at least he knows when he’s screwed up.

 

 

It doesn’t feel as natural anymore, just dropping in. He’d always had a reason before. Something concrete to discuss, something Iruka needed to be kept in the loop about. None of these reasons exist anymore. Kakashi’s in the process of formulating a new one when chance intervenes.

Either he’s never before had company here, or he’s never properly paid attention.

This particular morning he’s having to cut the visit short, owing to a briefing with the Hokage around ten. But leaving the cemetery he spots another visitor, far enough away that he might’ve easily missed them, too close for him not to realize who it is.

One look at Iruka standing over Sandaime’s grave and he realizes how oblivious he’s been.

How he’s only thinking about this now when he’s known the story for years, he’ll never know. He’d heard it from Iruka himself. Back then they were only acquaintances, which made it surprising that he’d trusted Kakashi enough to confide in him. When Iruka’s parents were killed, he’d only been a little older than Kakashi was when he lost his father. But in time, both he and Iruka had gone on to find surrogate parents of their own.

And when he thinks about it like that, the truth hits him hard enough to stop his feet on the pavement. Iruka must feel the way he did when Minato died.

 

 

He’d long ago stopped being bothered by the effects of overwork and general neglect on his part, but it troubles him to find that Iruka’s looking a little ragged himself these days. Kakashi finds him at the Academy later that afternoon, struggling to open a door with his arms full, and steps in to help.

“Oh!” In his surprise, Iruka lets a scroll escape the pile. Kakashi snatches it up and tucks it back where it came from. “Kakashi-sensei. Thank you.”

“They got you teaching classes again?” Last he heard, the Academy was closed down. There was only one reason they’d do that — to get all chuunin and jounin on active duty as an interim measure. There are few times a nation is more vulnerable to attack than during a regime change.

“Yeah, full-time since a couple weeks back.” Maybe it’s because Kakashi knows what to look for, but from the state of him Iruka could still be pulling all-nighters in the forest. “There’s a lot to catch up on.”

“I bet.” He didn’t come here to talk about work. “Do you want to grab dinner later?”

Iruka isn’t as obviously stunned as last time. Only half as bad. “Yeah. Sure.”

“How’s eight?”

“Eight is… good.” The slight hesitation makes Kakashi think maybe eight isn’t so good. But he’s not one to argue.

“Same place, then.”

“I’ll be there.”

Iruka finally smiles when he leaves.

 

 

Well, this wasn’t what he had in mind. But if Iruka wants to skip straight to drinks, he’s definitely not one to argue with that. He’d personally cope some other way, these days, but back when he went through what Iruka’s in the middle of now he’d fared no better.

Of all the things that need to be talked about — Hiruzen’s death, Sasuke’s defection — there isn’t one Kakashi actually wants to bring up. He’s kept it to the bare minimum thus far, only discussing what’s required of him with their superiors. Some things don’t feel quite so terrible if you don’t say them out loud.

If he’s tongue-tied Iruka doesn’t notice. He’s two shots ahead and actually seems to be enjoying himself.

“See that?” Iruka hisses once the bartender’s out of sight. He’s trying to hide a smile behind his hand.  _Trying_  being the operative word. “I think he likes us better when we don’t ask for food.”

“I told you.”

It’s kind of funny to see Iruka like this. But Kakashi doesn’t want him to get self-conscious, so he reigns in his amusement under the usual nonchalance.

Fresh shots in front of them, Iruka goes quiet before reaching for his. “Kakashi.”

“Hm?” He shows no surprise at the dropped honorific, or the gleam in Iruka’s eyes.

“Are  _we_  friends?”

It takes a second to register, but the slight emphasis on the word speaks volumes. It calls to mind the last time they’d talked friendship, and everything else that talk entailed. He manages to keep his expression neutral.

“Hm.” He’s distracted as ever while choosing a response. He keeps an eye on Yoshiro’s back as the man sweeps the floor at the other end of the bar. However this conversation goes, it has to be subtle. “Yes, I think so.”

He doesn’t look to see Iruka’s reaction, but he can picture it clearly enough.

 

 

Thankfully Iruka’s still level-headed enough not to make a scene in front of the old bastard. He saves it for the walk home. They’re nearing the corner to turn down Iruka’s street when it becomes evident he’s struggling with something. Kakashi can see it out of the corner of his eye, Iruka's head turning back toward him, mouth opening only to hesitate. He pretends not to notice.

“Was there something you needed to talk to me about?”

_Oh, I don’t know. The man you thought of as a father just died, defending the village from an attack that could have killed your students too. That could have killed you. You also just lost one of your best and brightest to the mastermind behind the whole thing. If you aren’t a fucking mess right now, I’d be worried._

“Not really, no.”

Maybe now’s not the time.

Kakashi’s still not sure how to process this turn of events. Everyone handles grief differently, so he’d gone into the evening expecting the worst. He’d be a shoulder to cry on, literally if need be, just as he would bear the brunt of anger Iruka had nowhere to vent. He had recollections of his own experiences ready, in case cautionary tales were needed. What he wasn’t prepared for was  _this_  coming up so soon.

He’s got to give Iruka some credit. He’d pegged him for the assume-it’s-unrequited, suffer-in-silence type.

They stop in the shadow of Iruka’s building but he doesn’t seem eager to head inside. He even seems hesitant to face Kakashi, though when he does it’s obvious why.

Maybe after all this is over, he’ll stop going red in the face every time they see each other.

Kakashi doesn’t move a muscle as he leans in closer. He simply watches Iruka’s eyes fall shut, takes in the dark lashes, the dusting of tiny freckles over his cheeks, under the scar. His lips are a breath away when Kakashi’s hand closes around his wrist.

“You’re drunk.”

It’s a gentle refusal — he simply moves the fingers off the edge of his mask and lets go. But Iruka backs away fully, flushing redder at the rejection.

There’s nothing to be done now. This is a talk for daylight hours and clear heads. He doesn’t even know if Iruka will remember any of this in the morning. Kakashi’s mind is already on the walk home, his eyes on the road behind Iruka, but he stops alongside him.

“Try again when you’re not.”

With a pat to Iruka’s shoulder, he’s gone.

 

 

It’d only been part of the reason. But it’s true — he doesn’t want to be complicit in anything Iruka might regret when he’s sober. It’s just that he also needs more time to think this through.

At face value, it isn’t such a bad arrangement. They know each other well enough. He knows Iruka’s discreet. He’s obviously attracted to Kakashi, and attractive himself. The potential is almost too tempting not to explore.

Almost.

Kakashi’s self-control is more developed than most. And if he were so inclined he has an easy selection of options that come with no strings attached. Because he’s been around enough people who only want sex from him to know that’s not Iruka.

He knows why his friends are encouraging it. It's the same reason he needs to tread cautiously here. He gets a glimpse of it sometimes — hidden, lying in wait. Like a store of explosives wanting for a match. There’s a spark of something deeper than physical attraction between them that sets off every warning in Kakashi’s head. And still he brushes it off, and keeps coming around, even though it feels a little like setting himself up for some drawn-out torture down the line.

Attachments are little more than liabilities, especially to someone like him. He’s made too many enemies.

It could be argued that being from Konoha at all is a risk. That even ANBU and Hokage have to live their lives. That none of them should be barred from connecting with people just because they might die at any moment. He could rationalize all this nicely if he wanted, but it’s not the only concern.

Just because a few other jounin would have his back doesn’t mean it’s a good idea. Kakashi understands better than anyone that information is a weapon, and not an easy one to keep concealed. It took half the village hating him over an accidental kill for Kakashi to master not caring what others think. By the time he’d had his first experiences with other boys, he was able to fully accept this part of himself. Most others, he knows, are not so fortunate.

It just isn’t talked about in any household. Fathers expect their sons to grow up and find wives, mothers seek good husbands for their daughters. That there is any other option is simply unheard of. It’s the children who have to figure it out on their own, and it’s never easy. He’s got no way of telling if Iruka’s experimenting or if he’s experienced, if he’s comfortable or in denial. Kakashi thinks maybe he’s not the best person to ease one into something new and intimidating.

He crosses the threshold and closes the door, extinguishing all light in the apartment. The only sound in the darkness is the slow drip of a faucet.

This is going to be a long night.

 

 

Seven rolls around with the glare of sunlight and birds chirping outside his window, pulling him out of bed to face another day. He almost feels like he hasn’t slept at all, but he has. Two hours, maybe three. It’ll have to be enough.

Any notions he might have had about a talk with Iruka are dashed before long. He’s intercepted on the walk from the cemetery by a summons from Godaime.

She looks to be in a foul mood. A glance back at Shizune and her nervousness confirms it — Tsunade’s on the war path today. He lets his breath out in relief when she gets straight to business.

“I've received ANBU intelligence about potential hostile forces crossing the border nearest Amegakure. They haven't been able to give me a definitive number. It's possible that it's one person acting alone, but we should assume they have company. Apparently they're skilled enough to have given ANBU the slip so far. They've asked for you.”

“Yes, Hokage-sama.”

“Mark it as A-rank. I want the report in three days. If you haven’t learned anything by then, you’re to return. The mission is surveillance. Do not engage unless necessary and if you do, aim to capture, not kill.”

“Understood.”

 

 

After two days camping in the forest, the only living souls he’s seen are ANBU. They’re all anonymous in painted porcelain, though he still knows every face but the newest by its mask. They brief him the first day, and spread out across the border. He’s to use his ninken to immobilize and send for backup if he should encounter a target that proves hostile.

All he’s encountered is the end of  _Icha Icha Paradise_  for what must be the hundredth time. It hasn’t been long enough since he started for a re-read to be worth it, so he tucks it away, resigning himself to an uneventful evening ahead.

He hears the kunai a split-second before impact. He only has to note half the blade’s embedded in the wood next to his head before he’s on his feet and facing the assailant.

They move too fast. Immediately he uncovers the Sharingan. Only then can he make them out within the blur of motion — plain dark clothing, nothing distinctive. No hitai-ate.

 _Unaffiliated — mercenary? Missing-nin?_  That they’re a shinobi is obvious. He’s barely stood by the time they unleash a barrage of kunai, forcing him to dodge. And when he finds his footing the man is right in front of him.

“Copy-nin.”

It’s no longer a surprise when enemies recognize him, though it’s often a complication. If they should escape, his identity and mission are compromised. Too often they see him and run rather than attempt a fight.

This one does no such thing.

He knows what he’s supposed to do. Except the man is matching him blow-for-blow, and every time Kakashi tries to put space between them he closes the gap. There won’t be time to use his summons. There’s only time to block each stab and slash, stopping the enemy’s kunai with his own.

 _Too close._  The clash of metal in his ear is deafening. With the blade so near his face, he can finally see it, along the edge…

His pulse has quickened when they break apart. He doesn’t waste a second.

The man makes his last attack lit up by the white-hot glare that renders his face monstrous. He slumps against Kakashi, frozen where they stand. Lungs struggling for breath. Forearm caged by broken ribs. Staring down at the kunai that’d been aimed for his heart, and the poison that drips from its tip.

 

 

“Do you have the report for me?”

“No. I just got back. I’ll have it in the morning.”

Tsunade looks pointedly at the scroll he’s dropped on her desk, and back at him.

“The one who ambushed me. I was not able to capture.”

He watches the anger flash in her eyes but in the end she doesn’t ask. The obvious question when a shinobi fails a mission in this way — if he’d done everything he could to subdue the enemy first before resorting to this. It goes without saying. It’s just the standard she has come to expect from him.

_Though she’s a lot older than Minato, and she forgets nothing._

“Very well. I’ll have Shizune examine the body, see what we can find. You’re dismissed.”

 

 

Failure doesn’t sit well with him. As a lifelong perfectionist, it’s not something Kakashi has frequently let happen and maybe that’s why it hits so hard. Failure is felt in the head (hot, tingling), in the chest (dull, heavy), and in the stomach (sinking, never hitting bottom). Logic tells him it’s all right, that he’s done nothing wrong, but it does little to pull him out of it.

Not that he lets it show. He has the second  _Icha Icha_  in one hand, strategically arranged to hold together the broken spine, and the other in his pocket as he treads the hallway toward the exit. He’s staring at some passage about a co-ed hot springs and running through every detail of the battle in his mind, looking for mistakes he might’ve made. Though his gaze is ahead, his attention’s peripheral. Meaning when he passes by an open doorway and sees a figure inside, it automatically draws his eye.

“Iruka-sensei.”

He has time to blink before remembering to put away the book. It’s the records room he’s stopped outside, and Iruka stares back at him over the scrolls in his arms.

For once, he’s not blushing. “Kakashi-sensei.”

He considers the options. Keep walking. Make small talk and move on. Offer to help him. What he does is step inside and shut the door.

Trust Iruka to fill the silence first. Kakashi doesn’t quite know what he’d do without that tendency of his.

“Is everything okay?”

“Just fine,” he lies. “I hope you got home all right.”

Thankfully Iruka laughs. “I managed.”

The silence is thick with tension, and loud with what he wants to say.  _About the other night…_

He clears his throat and starts small. “You need help with those?”

Iruka sets the scrolls aside on an empty desk, which answers that well enough. He’s leaning back against the edge in a way that seems to be a question itself.

Kakashi knows an invitation when he sees one. He stops right in front of Iruka, whose kiss still catches him off guard. He simply grabs Kakashi by the front of his vest and pulls him into it, ignoring the mask. It may as well not even be there. He can still feel Iruka’s lips, their warmth, their give. That they’re the kind of plush he’s always tempted to bite. He could’ve gone his entire life without that knowledge, but now it’s too late, and he’s thinking of doing something really irresponsible.

Then Iruka’s hands are on his body, under his shirt, and that snaps him right out of it. He knows where this is headed, and they just don’t have that kind of time.

The mask stays put. He takes control back in increments, in the space between their lips, in what he does with his hands. Kissing is the least of Iruka’s concerns when every breath is measured and ends with a shudder. Kakashi’s shocked at the wetness coating his fingers — Iruka must have been hard since he stepped in the room. It’s oddly satisfying to know he has that kind of effect on him. That he could bring Iruka to the brink so easily.

It’s almost too easy. His body’s gone rigid against him, his breath coming in gasps. Kakashi tightens his grip and he answers with a moan that sounds ripped from his throat.

The glare Kakashi shoots him is a warning. It doesn’t have quite the intended effect. It’s all it takes to make him come. He manages not to make a sound. But he’s holding so tight to Kakashi that he can feel its intensity in every muscle of his body.

He knows already that this will be the end of him. That he’s fucked up, that he's _fucked_ , but there is no going back now.

There’s a time where there aren’t any words. Kakashi doesn’t know what he might have said. They aren’t given the chance for that, because someone’s at the door, and by the time they get it open Kakashi's nowhere in sight.

 

 

The men’s room is blessedly empty. With a deep breath he shakes the tension rolling through him, and stops at the sink to wash his hands. The gloves are sticky, though when he wets them, the water that runs off is the color of rust.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, motionless at the sight of it.

 

 

“You _left_  me there.”

Iruka's indignant, even as he helps Kakashi get him out of his own shirt. He'd seized on the very first chance to take the afternoon off. It's likely he would've been a flustered mess for the rest of the day even if he _hadn't_ had suspicious stains to worry about. As it was he'd rushed through a cursory explanation on his way out the door and, coincidentally enough, found Kakashi waiting down in the courtyard.

“It would have been worse if I stayed.”

He makes no argument, but continues to fume quietly. He's settled back against his pillows, head tilted to watch Kakashi. Fingers ghost over his stomach and he flinches — the sensitivity filed away for later exploitation, though when Kakashi starts to work open the front of his pants his movements are more careful. He drags the zipper down slowly and Iruka stares at the ceiling, red creeping across his cheeks.

“I thought you were done blushing because of me.”

Iruka still won't look at him. “I will beat you.”

“Whatever gets you off.”

He smiles despite himself, gaze finally settling on Kakashi as he strips him the rest of the way. Though Kakashi's flak jacket is somewhere by the door, and the floor is littered with scraps of black fabric, he's stubbornly still clad in undershirt and boxers, along with the mask. “Don't you ever take that thing off?”

It's a question he's been asked so often it's hard not to be annoyed. “I don't like to.” He aims to distract Iruka from this line of inquiry with a featherlight touch, tracing lines over his hipbones.

It almost works, but he pushes on. “So how do you kiss people?”

“I don't.” Only after saying it out loud and seeing Iruka's face could he have possibly understood how that sounded. “...Usually.” But he hasn't in years, and as an attempt to salvage, it's rather weak.

Iruka closes his eyes with a sigh, relaxing into the touch as it grows firmer and more decisive. “You're hopeless,” he mumbles.

“Probably.”  _I don't think you'll mind in a minute._

Iruka in natural lighting, without clothes in the way, is a sight to behold. The bronze of his skin is nearly unmarred, giving away his inexperience in battle. But the muscle underneath is surprisingly well-defined. It's obvious he keeps up with his training. This time, without the threat of being discovered hanging over their heads, Kakashi is not going to rush. He's going to savor this. He's quickly learning how badly he'd missed out by not watching his face earlier. There's hardly anywhere Kakashi can touch that doesn't have some effect — a hitch of breath, a fleeting pout, brows drawn momentarily in frustration. His face is more expressive even with eyes closed than anyone Kakashi's ever seen. He's so enthralled he almost doesn't notice the unmistakable reaction seizing his body.

Immediately, he stills his hand. The sound of protest from Iruka's throat has a visceral effect. It stirs at something dark and dormant that he flatly ignores. It's not time for that.

“Don't tease,” Iruka warns, relaxing into the mattress again. Kakashi says nothing, only waits for his breathing to stabilize. With him back from the brink, it's safe to move his hand again — though it's the other one he does. Iruka's eyes widen slightly at the fingers pressed against him.

“Is this all right?”

There's a moment where all Iruka does is stare, his mind catching up to reality. When it does he blinks and gives a nod.

Kakashi withdraws both hands. _Ram. Tiger. Snake._

Iruka starts to sit up in alarm. “What? What jutsu—  _oh_.”

He sinks back into the bed. Kakashi smiles.

Iruka's draped an arm over his eyes, leaving only half his very red face visible. “Do I even want to know where you learned that?”

“I'll never tell.”

With the aid of one highly specialized water technique, the two fingers encounter no resistance. Though from the feel of him, Kakashi is starting to suspect a complication.

“Have you ever done this before?”

Iruka doesn't answer, or move, still half-hidden from view. Eventually he shakes his head.

 _Gods help me_.

“...Is that a problem?”

“No, no,” Kakashi assures him, though inside he's screaming. “We'll just have to be careful.”

 _In theory_. In practice he's not so sure. He's never been with a virgin, nor has he particularly wanted to be. But watching Iruka's reaction to sensations he's never known existed just might make it worth the trouble. He presses deep enough to send a shiver through his entire body.

Iruka's eyes fly open and find Kakashi, staring as his breath comes fast and heavy. He can see it dawning on him, just what he has in store. “That's... oh, fuck.”

“Yeah.” The laughter fades from Kakashi's face the longer he watches him. If it was easy to make him come undone before, it's almost effortless now. He's wound too tight, nervousness and anticipation setting him on a hair-trigger. With anyone else he'd draw this out, but he's doubtful how long Iruka can last. “You ready to try?”

He takes a moment to breathe before answering. “Ready as I'll ever be.”

Kakashi watches him for a minute, running down his options. The impulse to take him just like this is ignored in favor of a more considerate course of action. He shifts to lay beside him, a guiding hand at his hip. “You get on top.”

Iruka moves unsteadily into place astride him. He lets his hands roam while he gathers the courage, pushing up Kakashi's shirt, dragging down his boxers. He takes one look and curses under his breath.

“It's okay.” Kakashi rubs his thighs until he lowers the hand covering his face. “Take your time.”

He does. For a while he just stays there, hands braced on the bed, thumb idly brushing over the old tattoo on Kakashi's arm. If he'd showed any surprise at the sight Kakashi had missed it. Eventually he stirs.

 _It'll hurt_ , he almost says, until he realizes Iruka knows. He tries to help as much as he can but there is only really one way through this. “Give it a minute.” His hands smooth over his sides, graze his nipples, settle on his hips. He's grateful when Iruka starts to relax. He hadn't been the only one in pain. “Go slow.”

He doesn't need to be told. All he can seem to handle is this excruciating pace. He keeps his eyes on Kakashi's until he comes to rest with him fully inside. Kakashi wonders if he's supposed to wipe away his tears, but in the end he ignores them until Iruka hastily rubs them away with the back of his wrist.

“You okay?”

Iruka breathes in deep, and even that much movement has him tightening his hands into fists on the sheets. “Yeah,” he answers with surprising assurance, though he does sound rather breathless. “It's just kind of a lot— a lot to take. I'll be okay in a second.”

Kakashi waits. He waits, until he's tired of waiting and watching Iruka look pained. He wraps a hand lightly around him and strokes.

 _“Fuck—_  wait.” His thighs tighten around Kakashi's hips, the jolt running through them both. He takes a moment to recover, and when his gaze meets Kakashi's again there's nothing shy about it anymore. And there's the shift Kakashi was waiting for, pain receding enough to let pleasure creep back in. He does as Iruka says and lets go. Another minute and he starts to move again.

All Kakashi can do is let him figure it out for himself. He's all hesitance at first, afraid to make a wrong move, but soon enough he's found a rhythm.

“I'm... I think I'm gonna—”

“Then stop.”  _So soon?_  His legs tremble as he goes motionless. “I'm not there yet. You gotta wait for me.”

Iruka comes to rest on his hands again, leaning over him. Kakashi gives in to the curiosity that's hounded him all afternoon and reaches up to undo his ponytail. It's longer than he expected, falling in messy waves around his face.

“It looks good down.”

A slow smile curves Iruka's mouth. Then he's closing the distance, and the mask is gone, and when their lips meet Kakashi doesn't bother to fight it. He's kissing back before he can think. Thinking ruins everything.

When Iruka pulls away to breathe he's dazed enough to forget himself and open both eyes. The flicker of fear across Iruka's face is gone in an instant, but it still leaves Kakashi feeling somehow ashamed. But soon he's moving again, and he's still staring, looking more transfixed than anything now.

Under the Sharingan his chakra hums in pure light. It's stronger than Kakashi imagined. But now that he sees it, puts a visual to what he's been feeling, it makes perfect sense.

 _It only feels like this because of his chakra_. Kakashi tells himself this, and he tells himself again, because any other option means opening a door that needs to stay shut.

Sensation easily overtakes the thought process before long. And then there's only Iruka, his face screwed up with too much pleasure to bear. Iruka's hips meeting his in staccato, giving sound to the desperation thick in the air. When he can't keep it up any longer and falters in his rhythm, Kakashi takes over. He rolls Iruka onto his back and drives into him hard enough that he comes within seconds, hand clamped over his own mouth to keep from crying out. It drags Kakashi down with him, and he slows to a stop, watching Iruka's face as it reddens.

He understands a second too late. “Ah... fuck, sorry. I should've—”

“Shut up.”

Iruka grabs him by the collar and pulls him down, and he doesn't have to be told twice.

 

 

“Kakashi...”

The sound of his name whispered grips his heart so tight it almost stops. His eyes snap open, anticipating the blinding light. But it's dark, and there's no one there. He's alone. He shakes his head as if that'll shake off the feeling and reminds himself where he is.

Not alone. With Iruka. In his bed, and it's evening, and the room is lit by sunset. He sits up.

“Do you want some dinner?”

He must have fallen asleep. He doesn't answer at first, rubbing his face while he finishes waking up. Iruka's sitting on the bed next to him, smelling fresh from the shower. “No, I'm good. You go ahead.” He's vaguely nauseous anyway. The nerves in his stomach are raw, buzzing like the rest of him. Like how he feels after a mission.

After a mission. _Shit_.

He tugs the mask back into place and stands to gather his scattered clothing.

“Where are you going?” He doesn't look at Iruka as he gets dressed. He can hear the disillusionment in his voice and doesn't need to see it too.

“Report to write. Godaime needs it in the morning. Guess I forgot about it before.”

“Oh.”

No inflection. Impossible to read. Kakashi glances over at him as he pulls on a glove, flexing fingers into it. Iruka's just watching him, face impassive. “You good?”

The question makes him blink, and the first inklings of a smile come to his lips as he answers. “Yeah, I'm fine. A little sore.”

“Mm. It shouldn't be so bad next time.”

He wishes he'd missed the way Iruka's face lit up at that.

He tugs the hitai-ate down to cover his left eye and glances around to see if he'd forgotten anything. But there's only Iruka's clothes, his rumpled sheets, his eyes, open and expectant. Kakashi is seized with the inexplicable urge to stay, to just write the damn thing here. But it's gone as soon as it'd come, leaving him feeling suddenly out-of-place, like an intruder on something private and not meant for him.

“Well, better get going. I'll see you later.”

He catches Iruka's response on his way out the door. The cold outside air isn't the remedy he'd hoped for.

“Bye, Kakashi.”

 

 

_Target a shinobi of unknown affiliation. Identifying marks or weapons absent. Armed with standard kunai, which appeared to be coated with an unknown toxin._

His pen hovers over the section labeled _casualties_ while he weighs each word carefully. The first attempt is crumpled on the desk in front of him. This time he's already filled out everything else, and to have to start over now would be disastrous.

_Was forced to engage by target. Was kept in defensive position for duration of the battle. Was not given an opening to employ Kuchiyose no Jutsu, nor to perform a binding technique or otherwise incapacitate. Acted in self-defense—_

—adrenaline overload, the first thing that comes to mind and the easiest to ready—

_—and neutralized target by Raikiri._

The taste of scorched blood in the air, in his mouth, the gush and scrape as he pulls out. Burning the sight into his mind and filing it away, and maybe one day they'll all crowd out the worst one.

_Body and all recovered weapons from the scene were sealed according to standard ANBU procedure for later examination._

Once he's signed the last page he pushes the stack away from him like something distasteful and stands. His gloves are in the bathroom sink, soaking in detergent. He's showered away the sweat and dirt and blood but he still can't work up much of an appetite. Though considering he's been running on soldier pills for going on the last three days, he should probably eat something that could be called real food.

He stares into a cabinet, unmoved by any of its contents, and wonders what Iruka would have cooked for him.

 

 

“No, but here's some weird shit—”

Those words rouse Kakashi from his stupor. He glances up from his book to find that they're the only two left in the jounin lounge, and Asuma's solely talking to him. He should feel bad for tuning out whatever he'd said previously, but Asuma doesn't seem troubled by it.

“That chuunin left halfway through his shift yesterday. Doesn't do that much, does he?”

Pretending he has no idea what Asuma's on about won't work, but Kakashi is not inclined to do anything else. “Hm. I don't know.”

“Come to think of it,” he muses around the cigarette in his mouth, eyes glinting with a mischief that belies any coincidence. “I don't remember seeing you after that, either.”

“Hmm.”

“I saw him on the way out. Looked like somebody roughed him up, but he was all red in the face.”

Kakashi's eye narrows slightly in concentration, ears straining for any sign of movement nearby. Though there's no one else in the room, this topic still sets his teeth on edge.

“You didn't really ditch work to fuck him.”

He doesn't look up as he turns the page. Showing his irritation will only make it more obvious. “You wanna say that a little louder? I think maybe Hokage didn't hear you.”

“You did, didn't you?” When Kakashi doesn't deny it, he leans back into the couch and takes a drag. “You _dog_.”

“I hate to be the one to have to tell you this, but that joke's not actually funny anymore.”

He's grinning, undeterred. Kakashi ignores him long enough to warrant further questioning. “And?”

He looks blandly in Asuma's direction, tempted to say _it's none of your business_  until he recalls hearing in vivid detail about his first night with Kurenai. There are certain things you're better off not knowing about your third-best friend's girl. Things that if you aren't careful will earn you a black eye from either one of them. Kakashi had avoided her for days while he cleaned up his mind.

“And nothing. I went home to write a report.”

“Ouch.”

He pretends he didn't hear this. He's staring very hard at the page in front of him, hoping against hope that Asuma will bore of trying to extract answers from a veritable brick wall.

“He likes you, you know.”

He tries to get away with silence, but it soon becomes heavy. “I know, Asuma.”

He's made his point clear enough. He must know this, too, since he drops it, leaving Kakashi to contemplate in solitude just how easy it is to break a heart.

 

 

The thing to do, he decides, is take some space.

It's clear they both need time to cool down. Kakashi to rid himself of anything clouding his better judgment, and Iruka to figure out if this crush of his is even legitimate. If it didn't just arise from the mystery of him, and now that it's dispelled, Kakashi has lost his charm.

It really wouldn't be a surprise. In fact he suspects that the more Iruka learns about him, the less appealing he will become.

Evading him is easy enough. It's a simple matter of keeping a lookout and disappearing before he can be seen. A week passes with them in stalemate, not a word or look exchanged between them. He has every hope that Iruka won't realize it's intentional. Kakashi has been busy, after all, with only two daysoff in the last fortnight. He has a perfectly valid excuse for any prolonged absence. And no one goes about their daily business in the village expecting stealth tactics to be used against them. No one normal, that is.

Asuma had been right to call him out. He's disappointed in himself for not recognizing earlier what a misstep this was. That he was still recovering from the mission is no excuse — he knows right from wrong no matter the state he's in. Knowing Iruka has feelings for him, knowing he has no intention to date _anyone_ , Iruka or not, he never should have crossed that line.

And now he's left with something he can't take back. Kakashi has never been good with those.

 

 

He's on a two-week success streak when he's ambushed, inevitably. Just because he can escape Iruka's detection doesn't mean he can hide much of anything from a certain few.

“He asked me how you're doing the other day.”

“Huh.” Kurenai's cornered him in the lounge this morning as he waits for coffee, sleep weighing on him like a mantle. “What'd you say?”

She laughs and it's more like a scoff. “That I didn't know.”

Kakashi is silent for a pause. “You don't have to lie for me.”

“I know that. And I didn't.”

He turns his head to look at her for the first time.

“I'm sure you know avoiding your problems isn't any kind of solution. What exactly are you waiting for?”

Try as he might, Kakashi finds no suitable excuse not to answer honestly. “For him to get over it. Come to his senses, and so on.”

“You really think that's going to happen?” When he only stares in response, she comes visibly close to rolling her eyes athim. “Give the guy a little credit, Kakashi.”

He should say something, but he doesn't know what, so he busies himself with the coffee pot and mug.

“He's not as clueless as you think. He knows you were ANBU, for one thing. Genma told him ages ago. He was in there asking what you did before the teaching post, apparently.”

This piece of information fits into place where it completes the picture, Iruka calm as he runs his fingers over the red-ink flame burned into his skin. Not shocked, or frightened, or anything else others have been.

“I think sometimes you forget how famous you are.” Seeing his long-suffering face at being reminded, she smiles. “Or you wanna pretend you're not. Either way, I'm sure he's got the general idea even if he doesn't have all the details. And he likes you anyway. Has for a while. I'd say if he hasn't snapped out of it yet, he probably never will.”

This doesn't reassure him nearly as much as she intended. But it is enough to loosen worry's grip on his heart just a little.

If Iruka knows, at least he can take solace in the fact that they're both making the same informed but terrible decision.

 

 

Iruka is a friend.

Umino Iruka is a friend, and he's sleeping alone across town, and Kakashi can no longer pretend he doesn't wish he could fix that.

It unnerves him greatly. So foreign is the feeling of wanting to sleep with someone — to _sleep_ , in their bed, smelling their hair and feeling them breathe.

That's not to say sleeping is all he wants to do.

He doesn't get it. It was just sex. Not even particularly _good_ sex. He could understand being confused if it was earth-shattering.  But it wasn't anything special — the typical one-night stand. A little awkward, over too soon. There's no fathomable reason it should have him so preoccupied.

Only it wasn't just sex, and he knows this, even if he has successfully avoided facing the realization head-on. There have been plenty of nights in plenty of beds and never once has he been tempted to stay for dinner, and breakfast, only leaving when he had to. He'd like nothing better than to blame exhaustion, but he can't fool himself.

A bird singing outside his window is a warning. The sun's started rising, though in his bedroom it's still dark. The bird falls quiet again and then there's only the broken faucet. Water striking metal with a soft _thud_ , insistent, counterpoint to the pulse too soft inside him. Something aches in his ribcage. He tries to sleep.

 

 

He never makes it to three weeks.

He's spent the better part of the day dodging Iruka at every turn only to willfully ruin it by night. The door swings open and there's Iruka dressed-down in a shirt two sizes too big, Iruka with his slept-on ponytail and smile hesitating on the verge of existence. Kakashi doesn't know what to say, but it doesn't matter, because Iruka picks up on it and rescues him.

“Come on in. I'll make you some tea.”

Kakashi follows him in, and closes the door, and locks it. Shutting them in feels more like shutting everything else out and he starts to understand why he likes it here. There's an emptiness to the space but it's nothing like the emptiness in his own apartment. It's melancholy, but it's peaceful, not the kind that will dig its teeth into him when the lights go out.

Watching Iruka move through his kitchen, taking down cups, starting the kettle, he's standing in the middle of the room with all the uncertainty of an uninvited guest. “I woke you up.”

Iruka pauses mid-movement, looking over at him with a tin in his hands. “Oh, no! It's okay. Really, I passed out too early.”

Iruka's too kind and good, and he doesn't deserve him, he really doesn't.

He's filled the pot with tea-leaves and Iruka leans back against the counter to wait for the water. It's the first time he's slowed down enough to take a good look at Kakashi. And he can see it forming, the concerned little furrow of his brow. Kakashi doesn't want that, to be worried over. He's just so tired.

“Are you all right?”

Iruka is too kind, and this place too far removed from battlefields and blood. He'll make it ugly.

“You can talk to me, if you want. If it'll help. The least I can do is return the favor.”

His meaning is lost on Kakashi, at first. The memory comes back in pieces. A long-off afternoon, a bench, an overheard sigh. He'd wanted to relieve Iruka of his burdens and he'd barely even known him. It's strange, in retrospect.

“You remember that, right?”

_If you don't open your heart to him, no one will._

A laugh escapes him and it's brittle. “Yeah. I remember.”

It'd been the only advice he could think to give. He hadn't really expected Iruka to listen. But he'd done it, he'd found it in his heart to love Naruto, to love a living reminder of the worst pain he's ever known. His heart is that big. Big enough to love Kakashi, if he wanted.

_If he can't do it, no one can._

It's a terrible thought, and so bleak it almost hurts, but it cracks his face into something like a smile.

Maybe one day he'd be able to tell him everything. About Obito, and Rin. The guilt that never leaves him as the years slip by. That sometimes he looks at the blood on his hands and is overcome with the bone-deep need to take a break from it all that he can never indulge. About the nightmares, how they never stay gone long enough. How he hasn't been okay since Sasuke left, not really. Not when he armed this child with the most lethal weapon he knows before ever sitting him down and dealing with his glaring pain and instability. And now people will die, again, and it'll be his fault, and he's so weary of this it makes him sick.

He should tell him something. He could probably tell him everything and Iruka wouldn't flinch. He knows this. He still can't. But Iruka's looking at him so closely, and with such tenderness, he's hopeful he'll never have to.

“Why don't you stay here tonight?”

It's the best idea he's heard in weeks. “You don't mind?”

“Not at all.” Iruka gives him a smile that's a little too sweet for the playful dip of his voice. “You're always welcome to my couch.”

“Uh huh.” He plays along, grateful for the distraction. “Just the couch, then?”

The smile warms into a grin before disappearing, slowly. The look in Iruka's eyes threatens to start something, but the mood is dispelled in an instant.

He turns back to the stove, switching off the noisy kettle and taking his time pouring the water. Kakashi acts on his suspicion, stepping closer and tilting his head to see Iruka's face.

He almost comments on the flushed cheeks, until he's fixed with a glare that could stop armies, and he keeps his mouth shut after that.

 

 

The tea's half-drunk on the table, still, and Iruka's fully naked in his bed. To his obvious delight, so is Kakashi. Tonight the mask and everything else felt obtrusive and unnecessary. So he'd shed them, while Iruka stripped, and kissed him, and pushed him onto the bed to kiss him some more.

It's an immense relief how much more comfortable he is this time, now that he knows what to expect. But his enthusiasm has Kakashi struggling to catch up.

“You had me thinking about this for weeks,” Iruka murmurs in his ear while he strokes him from half-hard to aching embarrassingly quick. “ _Weeks_ , Kakashi.”

“It wasn't easy for me either,” he manages to retort, though he regrets it when he sees Iruka's face. He's narrowed his eyes, and understanding comes too late. He knows Kakashi's been avoiding him. And now it's inevitable — he is going to make him suffer.

“You're lucky I like you.” There's a pang of something and it's not the threat of Iruka's formidable wrath that does it. He must look appropriately contrite, though, because Iruka leaves it a warning and simply moves to rest atop his stomach. “Do the—” But he can't seem to say it, and gestures with his hands rather than explain. “—Thing. Like before.”

“The thing?” Kakashi repeats with a laugh, much to Iruka's huffing disapproval. “I'll teach you the seals for it. What's your affinity?”

“Just do it. Lesson time later.”

Teasing Iruka is fun, but obeying him promises to be more so.

Minutes pass without a word spoken and the only sound Iruka's failed attempts to stifle his moans. He's given up trying to hold himself upright, opting instead for laying against Kakashi's chest with his face hidden in the crook of his shoulder. He's trying very hard to hold still while Kakashi teases pleasure out of him with a slow pulse of fingers.

This isn't quite what he pictured when Iruka moved things to the bedroom so aggressively, but it's every bit as welcome. Though eventually his own need is too pressing to ignore. “Like this?”

Iruka lifts his head to look at him, eyes unfocused. He has to consider it. “No.”

He gasps when Kakashi presses him into the mattress, fitting comfortably between his thighs. _Like this?_

Iruka pulls him into a kiss and it tastes like all the confirmation he needs.

It's easier this time, though not ideal. He stills almost immediately because he knows the sound of pain, and does what he can to alleviate it. Iruka tilts his jaw to give him access, voicing his approval with a soft hum. Kakashi adds it to the list of places to remember as the tension gradually drains out of him.

When he starts to move again it's slow, slower than strictly necessary, because he's acutely aware that while it's not Iruka's first time it's still pretty damn close. And thinking of it in those terms sends another rush of heat through him — that he was Iruka's first, at least like this, and to most people that means something.

He doesn't know if it means something to Iruka, but he hopes it's something good.

“It's okay,” Iruka mumbles into his hair, skimming a hand over his back. “You don't have to be so careful.”

Kakashi contemplates how seriously he should take this. The next stroke is experimental and it's met with a sharp cry. There's an apology on the tip of his tongue but he doesn't get it out. Because he's pulled back to look at him, and taken in the color in his cheeks, the strained breathing, the way he won't meet his eyes. “Oh.” The surprise in his voice only makes Iruka blush deeper. “Oh, I see.”

“Shut up.” It's so like Iruka to guard his pride even in such a compromising position. “Just keep... like that. Don't stop.”

He doesn't dare defy him.

Sometimes the worst part of the Sharingan is the very thing that makes it worth the trouble: its guarantee to catch every detail and preserve it forever. Essential in combat, horrifying in times of crisis, and the reason he leaves it dormant in bed. There's enough filth cluttering his mind thanks to Jiraiya's indulgent prose without every bad lay and impulse fuck burned irrevocably into it.

There was a reason there, an important one he'd disregarded when he slipped up with Iruka. As a mistake it's understandable, but it doesn't explain why he's still using it now.

Not that Kakashi needs an excuse to be staring this shamelessly. It's almost entirely fascination. He's not holding back in the least, now, and still Iruka hasn't signaled that he should ease up. Tiny sounds of pleasure keep catching in his throat, and he's closed his eyes — so he won't have to look at Kakashi, probably, because it hasn't escaped his notice that Iruka has been struggling with that. He'll have to unlearn the conditioning that tells him it's somehow disgraceful to be enjoying this.

All in time. It's not easy, and Kakashi won't fault him for it.

He will, however, fault him for coming too soon. He halts his movements before it's inevitable, and ignores Iruka's outrage, the nails digging into his skin and taut muscles pressed up into his own.

 _“No!_ I said don't stop—”

“Breathe.”

“If you don't—”

 _“Breathe_. This isn't a race.”

In those long, strange hours between midnight and dawn, time starts to lose meaning. The concepts of _sleep_  and _work_  seem unimportant now. They have all the time in the world.

After the requisite murderous glare Iruka listens, drawing a deep breath into his lungs. It helps a little, easing some of the tension coiled too tight in his body. His chakra's calmed by the time Kakashi's lips touch his collarbone.

Iruka settles more comfortably into the bed, idly stroking one hand through Kakashi's hair while he kisses along the ridge. “We probably need to sleep at some point.”

“Perhaps,” he concedes in a murmur against Iruka's neck. “But I've just started learning all kinds of interesting things.”

“I'm not sure I want to know what you mean.”

He doesn't bother to put it delicately. “The way you like it would get me kicked out of half the beds I've been in.”

“No, I definitely didn't want to know that.”

“It's a compliment.”

 _“Please_ shut up and fuck me.”

In place of a retort there's simply an exhale, not nearly as controlled as Kakashi would like. His body's reaction to the words is stronger than his resolve to keep still and Iruka moans his gratitude. The hand in Kakashi's hair tightens before he brings them both down, searching for something to hold onto and finding only scarred shoulderblades.

As much as Kakashi enjoys watching his face there's something to be said for this: Iruka holding him too close for that, keeping their bodies tight together. The air between them is heady, and there's a new urgency that has nothing to do with the late hour and everything to do with the fact that it's Iruka, who's been in his head for weeks, for months. Iruka who's wanted him for far too long with no reciprocation, who feels disastrously good under him now.

There's a time for restraint — every waking moment of his life, really — and he finally accepts that this isn't it. His eyes fall shut and Kakashi lets go of everything complicating the act, his own fear of the repercussions and need for absolute control. There's no place for that, any of that, if he wants to experience this as he's meant to.

He lets himself look at Iruka and not be daunted by what he makes him feel. He lets it surge through him, not at odds with the physical bliss but another layer that deepens and elevates it all at once. It's too much. The shock of every thrust, the slick drag of Iruka hard against his stomach. He's unraveling. Breath coming quick and shallow, the heat inside him rapidly becoming too much to bear. He has to stop.

“I'm close.” A hard breath against Iruka's neck makes him shiver. “You don't mind?”

It takes a second for his meaning to sink in. When it does Iruka turns his face into his hair, the impulse to hide his embarrassment palpable. “You did last time.”

Kakashi nips at his earlobe. “I know. And I should have asked.”

Iruka's arms close tighter around him and he feels him nod.

It's not entirely courtesy behind the whisper right in Iruka's ear. “Say it.”

The only reply he gets is a tremulous exhale. He starts to move again, grinding too slowly against him, eliciting a whimper Iruka was trying to contain. He finally manages it, barely audible in the silence. “Come in me.”

Composure always, inevitably, cracks. If it wasn't those words that did it, it was the sound Iruka made in the next second. _Too loud_ , something tries to tell him, but Kakashi's past the point of listening to reason. Iruka sounds too damn good tormented for him to reign it in now. He feels it coming on as Iruka arches off the bed, desperation in the wordless cry that escapes his lips, and then it shatters. Everything white-hot, knocking the air out of him.

In the wake of it little details return. There's coolness on his skin and he recognizes it as the sheen on Iruka's exposed throat, the tang of salt on his tongue. Iruka's still breathing like a man drowned, like there isn't enough oxygen left in the room to bring him back to normal. There's a flinch when Kakashi shifts against him and he doesn't do it again. He sets his head down and closes his eyes. He can hear Iruka's heartbeat.

Morning comes eventually, but neither of them sees it.

 

 

Kakashi never tells anyone what happened the night he showed up on Iruka's doorstep like a stray at two in the morning. He never says a word, not even to Iruka — who insists on a strict discretion policy in public. And somehow, over the coming weeks, he gets the distinct impression that everyone knows regardless.

Gai is the first to raise his suspicions. The platitudes he's so fond of spouting take a subtle but noticeable turn. There's less emphasis on Kakashi's elusive _cool_  and more on the _youthful passion_  he normally saves for his students, those hot-blooded teens. It's enough to raise an eyebrow, but not enough for alarm, at least not until the afternoon Gai proudly declares that _Love is, perhaps, an even more mysterious thing than rivalry._

Kakashi is shaken. It doesn't stop there. He might've been able to accept that Gai is simply _weird_  and it, of course, has nothing to do with his very private affairs. Except he catches Tenzou out on rounds one night and the ANBU startles him with a simple _Congratulations, senpai,_ so warm and sincere Kakashi is afraid to ask what for.

Genma lacks subtlety altogether, but it feels a little like mercy. He claps Kakashi on the shoulder on one of the rare occasions they're the only two left in the lounge.

“Your friend leaves his window open at night.”

Kakashi is left aghast, and alone, staring at the wall where Genma had been.

All he ever gets from Kurenai is a knowing smile that clearly says _I told you so_. Asuma is surprisingly quiet on the matter. It's been weeks and he still hasn't said anything, though he is oddly cheerful in Kakashi's presence. It's at Asuma humming to himself over coffee one morning that he draws the line.

“Why did you care so much what happened with him?”

It's more obvious, now, in hindsight. Asuma was definitely more concerned about him hurting Iruka than getting the latest gossip.

From the amused turn of lips Kakashi gathers he's been waiting for him to get it. The cigarette in his mouth bobs up and down, caught between his teeth.

“Well he _was_ my dad's favorite, you know. Might've had to kick your ass.”

 

 

Umino Iruka is a friend, and he's asleep in his bed, and Kakashi is frozen in his bathroom at the sight on the counter. A new toothbrush, still in its package, placed discreetly next to the sink.

He hadn't even reached the point of wondering if Iruka noticed it, or thought it odd. How every time they end up here Kakashi dreads the retreat to his own empty flat. It seems he'd noticed, after all, and in his own subtle way given Kakashi an excuse to stay.

His eyes meet his own reflection in the mirror and he's surprised how untroubled he looks.

These past months have been strange and wonderful and he's relatively desensitized to the frightening intimacy of it all by now. Sometimes it will hit him in such a way that sends him into a panic and he'll disappear for days, snatching up every open mission request they'll let him take, but Iruka's always there when he gets over it. Steady in his affections, if a bit demanding in making up for lost time.

He's more perceptive than Kakashi ever imagined. He'll never understand how he got so lucky.

Umino Iruka is a friend, and it's perfectly clear he knows that isn't all he is to Kakashi. He also knows that this shakes Kakashi to his core, and so he allows the silence. Reads it in the hugs that last a little too long when he's leaving Konoha in the middle of the night and wakes Iruka up just to see him. In the extra wards that appear without explanation around his apartment and the shadow he spots outside on the rooftop, sometimes, when he's home alone and half-asleep.

Kakashi doesn't know what else to do. Too many things that need to be said are impossible for him. The very fact that Iruka has accepted this, hears them anyway, responds in kind with everything he's never known how to ask for is enough to keep Kakashi up at night, eyes wide in the darkness, uncannily aware of his own beating heart.

Maybe it's always going to be a little terrifying, to love and be loved. Maybe it's worth it anyway.

 

 

 

 


End file.
